Being back in Loblolly County felt strange. Not bad exactly. Just…weird. Like slipping into an old cardigan she hadn’t worn since college. A little too familiar. But Dylan sitting beside her—his arm draped over her shoulder, his fingers idly stroking the curve of her bicep like he couldn’t not touch her—that made it feel different.
Old and new all at once.
This was the man she should’ve been here with all along.
The crack of a windshield being smashed pulled her focus back to the screen just in time to see Kat Stratford backing into the jerk’s car with perfect precision.Oops.
Dylan chuckled under his breath. “Still one of the greatest scenes of all time.”
She nodded, smiling around a mouthful of popcorn. “It’s cathartic. Like a feminist war cry in Doc Martens.”
He leaned closer, his breath warm at her temple. “You ever do anything like that?”
She gave him a look. “I’m a rule follower.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
Ali grinned. “Okay fine. I once sharpiedkarma’s realon a Trobe’s bathroom mirror after he ghosted Daisy.”
Dylan turned to look at her, impressed and amused. “Wait,Trobe’s? As in…Tau Rho Beta?”
She nodded, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Right across from the downstairs keg fridge.”
He laughed, low and surprised. “Damn. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
But she didn’t laugh this time. She kind of paused, fingers curling in the hem of her dress as she cleared her throat. “Daisy was still in my life ya know. She was in a daze, was wrecked. I just—” She shook her head. “I wanted to dosomething.”
Dylan’s expression softened, the edges of his teasing melting away. His arm tightened around her shoulders, warm and steady. “Of course you did.”
Ali shrugged, but the pressure in her chest loosened just a little. The memory still stung, but saying it aloud—withhim—took some of its bite away.
“Anyway,” she said after a beat, nudging him lightly, “I stand by it. He deserved it.”
“Hell yeah, he did,” Dylan murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Remind me to order you a pack of Sharpies for emergencies.”
She laughed again, more genuine this time, the ache fading into something softer as Kat strutted off-screen and the next scene rolled. And just like that, the past felt a little more bearable. A little less sharp. Because Dylan was here, beside her, making space for every part of her—even the broken pieces.
You’re Losing Me
Dylan
Onscreen, Bianca Stratford hauled off and decked Joey Donner across the jaw, and the crowd erupted—both in the movie and in a few parked cars nearby. Dylan grinned, but his focus had already drifted.
Ali was curled up beside him in the passenger seat, legs tucked under her, one bare foot pressed against his thigh. Her flip-flops had been abandoned within the first five minutes of thempulling in. She was leaning in closer as the movie went on, her cheek practically on his shoulder.
He could feel the rise and fall of her breath. The warmth of her body. The faint scent of whatever lotion she used—coconut, or something like it. He wanted to bottle it. Bury his face in it.
She shifted slightly. “I have to pee,” she whispered.
He turned, brows lifting. “Now?”
She gave a sheepish little smile. “I didn’t want to interrupt the movie, but I can’t hold it.”
Dylan gave her a look. “You want me to walk you?”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m walking you.”
